confessions of the hospital bed

Ruptured joints Deep in black ink.Flimsy fingers Marvel the meaningCongested with Words that run Off the cherry tongue.The mouth Of a girl is a briefcase Of secret documents Known only byThe doctor’s eye.The protocol ofAssessmentand emergency Response always isEleven hour wait,Rotting of cathedral walls,It is the soundOf small bodies shuttingBeside me in leather chairs.Shreds of soft Stiffened skin in spring.I close my eyes and Allow themto be sewed shut.New and old The sounds Ihave never knownSeem familiar like The hazy visionOf my body hangingFrom a noose.